


Monsters of the night

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, married au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Jemma wakes up, and Grant isn't home. She tries not to jump to the worst case scenario.





	Monsters of the night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tumblr prompt: ["Why are you awake?" + Biospecialist](https://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/185524249754/why-are-you-awake-biospec).

Jemma wakes up at five in the morning, for no discernible reason, which makes it highly irritating, considering that she’ll have to get up in a couple of hours anyway and she’s too tired not to have a full night of sleep.

She sighs, rolling on her stomach and sliding her arms under the pillow, stretching her legs in the empty half of the bed.

Then her sleepy brain connects the dots: it’s five in the morning and there’s nobody else in her bed, which means that Grant didn’t come home when he was supposed to, which means that there’s a distinct possibility that something might have gone wrong.

Crap.

She quickly scrambles for her phone, hoping to find a message from Grant, alerting her that the assignment got longer at the last minute and he’ll be back in a couple of days, or at most a missed call from an unknown number that surely belongs to his CO, trying to alert her that her husband is dead or hospitalized – she would have heard the ringtone, though, right? She isn’t that much of an heavy sleeper –, but when her eyes adjust to the bright light she finds that there is nothing. Neither a call nor a text.

Crap, crap, crap.

She needs to stay calm. She is used to life as the wife of a specialist, she knows how it goes, she’s fully aware that sometimes there are setbacks, that things change mid-mission and adjustments have to be made. She also knows that he doesn’t always have his phone at hand, or the chance to take a minute to text her.

But he _tries_.

If he’s late, he texts her. Even only a simple ‘Late’ with no explanation, just so she doesn’t worry until he can properly explain. Isn’t it more likely that if she didn’t hear a single word from him he’s injured? Or dead?

“Damn him,” she mutters, burying her face in her hands and trying to breathe through the lump in her throat and the knot in her stomach.

She needs to calm down, distract herself, possibly get some more rest – sleep might be too unlikely, but she should at least lie down, relax a bit, try not to get to work already destroyed inside –, and soon enough she’ll hear from him. She always does.

She kicks the sheets away, feeling vaguely nauseous as she abruptly stands up and carries herself out of the room: she’s going to head to the kitchen, grab a glass of water, take a deep breath, and go back to bed. Or maybe lie down on the couch, so she can distract herself with the TV.

(She grabs her phone, just in case. Grant might call, you never know.)

She doesn’t get far: to enter the kitchen she needs to walk by the couch, and it’s then that she notices a dark figure lying on it.

Her first instinct is panic: her heart jumps in her throat and she takes an abrupt step back, almost dropping her phone as she suffocates the urge to scream at the very last second. There is a gun tucked away in the second drawer to the left of the bed, Grant left it there for her just in case—

 _Grant_ , she suddenly realizes, her shoulders relaxing as she takes a moment to have a good look at the man on the couch. That’s him.

A small smile makes its way onto her lips, as she shakes her head slightly, relief washing through her.

He’s alright, he’s home. It just seems that he was too exhausted to make it to the bed, and he chose the couch instead.

She drops her phone on the first flat surface she can find, her lips still twisted in a smile as she walks up to him. She takes a moment to stare at his relaxed features, even if with his feet sticking out of the way too short couch and his neck bent at a probably painful angle it’s a wonder that he’s asleep to begin with – that probably speaks volumes on how tired he was, in addition to the fact that he didn’t drag himself to bed to begin with; he barely took off his shoes, he’s still fully clothed, in spite of the SHIELD uniform probably being slightly uncomfortable –, then she reaches for his shoulder, shaking him a bit as she softly calls out his name, so that he’ll know that it’s her, even while half-asleep.

He stirs with a noncommittal noise, blinking rapidly as he tries to focus and automatically wrapping his hand around hers.

“Hey,” he says, softly, his lips twisting into a slight smile as soon as his eyes seem to fully focus on her.

“Welcome back,” she reciprocates the smile, as he pushes himself up on his elbows, grimacing while he turns in every direction as if to verify that his neck still works.

“Why are you awake?” he asks, frowning slightly at her.

She shrugs. “I just woke up, and I started worrying when I didn’t find you in bed with me.” She does her best to keep any accusation off her voice, because although he wouldn’t take it personally he looks too much like an exhausted puppy, with his hair all messed up and his eyes half-closed, for her to want to do anything but wrap him in a blanket and shower him in kisses.

“I came back, uh, around four am?” he offers, glancing at the clock on the wall to his left. In the semi-darkness, _she_ can hardly read the numbers. “I didn’t want to wake you, you have work.”

If his intention was making her melt on the spot, it fully worked. Moron.

“Well, I _am_ awake, so—” She widens her smile, reaching out to stroke his cheek with her thumb. The way he shamelessly leans into the touch speaks volumes about how tired he is and how much he’s missed her. “—how about you get out of these clothes and we get into bed now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he jokes, leaning forward for a peck on the lips.

Jemma grins against his mouth, and for a moment she contemplates calling in sick and spending the whole morning lying in bed with him, work be damned.

It's good to have him home.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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